


Erasure

by artoni



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-14
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artoni/pseuds/artoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An end is a beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erasure

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGZffTGaZcU

Dying is easy. It is painful, but it is easy, he realizes, all at once, as the blade impales his spark chamber and he stares, wide-eyed, in to the face of his killer. His brother's face is cold and cruel, despite the fire that wreathes it, and as he twists the blade Vector Prime can only gurgle energon as damage grows to an even further catastrophic level and his readouts point to only one conclusion.

But then, he realizes, as his grip on reality grows thin and he can barely feel his legs giving out - he's died before, hasn't he? All of this has happened before. He didn't realize it before, but now he does, as his final sight before his optics grow dark is that of his brother reclaiming his blade, energon staining its metal, before he is assaulted by another form that Vector can no longer recognize.

But he remembers.

_I remember._

As his grip on reality grows thin and his body loses its ability to sustain life, he feels himself touching _another_ life - and another. Spread across reality, realities, far too many worlds to count where _he_ still exists, where his life rejoins itself in a greater whole and for a moment, for an eternity, he _remembers_.

Everything.

Who he is, what he is. His purpose. His duty. Subtle changes throughout his own incarnations, but here, rejoining his _self_ , the dread and terror and _despair_ that filled Vector Prime's death eases, slowly, in to an almost-numb acceptance that it was not the first time, and it will not be the last time.

It is almost too painful to contemplate. That the betrayal of his brother, the fall of what he thought was great but now is only terrible...

Vector Prime touches the Allspark, in a manner he has done many times before. More so, he _touches_ the Allspark, his own spark syncing with it as data, experience, and memories are brought back to the source. His very self is downloaded in to an archive that is far greater than even his multidimensional self could ever be, and through it, a fragment more of knowledge is gained, and a shred more understanding.

_What more?_

It has happened so many times, that here, in his most perfect self, he has allowed himself to wonder what else there is to learn - and he immediately banishes the thought. He must believe that there is a _reason_ , or every life he has lived, every moment of joy, every smile - every bitter loss and failure and it would _all_ be for nothing. He _must_ believe that there is a reason, or else he would not be able to move on.

And move on he does. When it is done, he pulls himself back, back among the dimensional currents, the severity of his latest death such that he does not _want_ to stay in that terrible state. He moves back through time, his spark a whisp of energy among higher dimensions, and through it, he moves _back_.

Memories, bit by bit, are lost. The past becomes the present becomes the future, and still he moves on, driven by the urge to begin _again_ , to start _anew_.

He is barely aware of other sparks moving with him. One by one, they join him, regardless of their state of living - regardless of how soon or late it ended. Already, time has lost its meaning, and very few things yet hold any as the growing number of sparks move back, and turn just so, warping across worlds before, at the guidance of the one who first created him, there is _new_.

Only his name, and only the urge to _press on_ are with him now. That, and a vague understanding that there is a reason for this, but even that is stripped away, a single thought left behind as his spark readjusts itself.

_Perhaps, this time...._

Life is harsh and cold. Vector Prime startles without knowing words for it, trembles without understanding, awakens to a blank canvas that he and his kin will soon recreate with a mind and body that is fresh and new, and a spark that has willingly erased itself with the now-lost knowledge that he _cannot_ be erased, he can only be made as new as the infant world that he gazes upon, as those he will come to call _brothers_ awakening around him, equally as new and lost and found by one another.

The ghost of a thought passes through him, without him truly understanding what it is - or was. It is almost lost, but he holds on to it, desperate for some sort of guidance, even if he will never understand it until it is far too late to have any effect.

_...we will do better._


End file.
